Just Coffee
by jenlovesbones
Summary: Series of short, long, sweet, angsty, funny, angry, happy and/or sad one-shot moments with our favorite partners-in-crime-fighting and their "Just Coffee" relationship that's anything but. An exercise for my muse. This could be fun...as fanfic should be.
1. Sticks and Stones

_**Hello you lovely people. How goes it? Me… well, my muse is stuck. Has been since that stupid finale episode which was stupidly awesome and amazing and has totally and completely sucked all the angst right out of my muse. It didn't occur to me until recently that I started writing fanfic after all the you-know-what hit the fan in the 100**__**th**__** episode. A summer of happy, fluffy Bonesy and Boothy feelings? What the heck's a writer to do?**_

_**So… here's this series of one-shots intended to stretch the muse. The most creative part of it is actually the title & summary. To quote a friend of mine, I suck at stories, but the summary is great. Afucking awesome title, really.**_

_**This series is called 'Just Coffee'… that's the only running theme. Just coffee-related moments with our favorite partners-in-crime-fighting that explore their "Just Coffee" relationship that's anything but. There is no canon or consistency concerns here. Sometimes, my Bren may be pregnant, sometimes not. But you can bet your cocky belt buckle that everything that happens here is a safe distance from that dreadful H-person. **_

_***thinks about the finale again* *giggles about the finale again* *angst-loving-muse sighs***_

_**Props to JMHaughey for the read-through and encouragement… and on with the show.**_

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><p><strong>Sticks and Stones<strong>

**.**

"Come on Booth, it's the championship game. I can't go, but someone should get to enjoy it."

"Oh, I definitely have no issue taking these… whew," he whistled looking at the shiny tickets in his hand. "Fourth row back?" Booth finished on a whimper.

"They're good seats Booth," Agent Sanders said in a prodding tone. Standing with his partner, Agent Monroe, in the homicide division's kitchenette, the guys were desperately trying to sell off the tickets they each spent a few thousand dollars on for a game they weren't going to get to see due to a narcotics bust they needed to make tonight.

"Come on, Booth, we can negotiate," Monroe prodded.

"Guys, I'd love to buy these tickets from you, but they'd cost me a month's salary and an arm and a leg."

"Why would they want your arm and leg?" Brennan interjected after walking into the kitchenette in search of her partner. "That sounds like an archaic bartering process, though I am not familiar with its origins," she added, almost to herself.

"It's an expression, Bones, for something that's far too expensive to ever, ever consider," Booth said, turning to his partner and handing her the cup of coffee he had just poured before turning to pour himself another cup.

"What is it you're not considering?"

"These are tickets to Game Six of the World Series, Doctor Brennan. The Phillies are in it to win and tonight they're going to clench the series and Booth here, supposedly the team's biggest fan, is going to miss it."

"How much do tickets to a baseball match cost?" Brennan asked, the other agents chuckling at her use of "match."

"They paid $4,000 for each ticket!" Booth exclaimed, breezing right past her misspeak.

Brennan tilted her head and Booth could see the wheels in her head turning. He was about to interrupt the process when she said, "I think if you were to have your arm insured, it would more than cover the cost of those tickets. But, if you insured it and then actually cut it off, you would not get the money in time for the game tonight. However, you wouldn't need to cut off both your arm and leg. Unless your leg is for whatever reason valued at a higher rate than your arm, but with your shooting experience I would assume your arm would be worth more, financially."

All the men chuckled at her thoughtful consideration. "Bones, it's just an expression. An arm and a leg is like… well, it's like when you say 'break a leg.' You're wishing someone good luck with the expression, not wishing that they actually break their leg."

"Why not just wish them good luck, aside from the fact that there is no such thing as luck?"

"Come on, genius, there are many body-related expressions out there," he said, bumping her shoulder. "Surely you've heard someone say 'get your foot in the door' before?" Booth asked.

"Ooh, or how about 'talk to the hand,'" Monroe chimed in.

"Or a 'shot in the arm,'" Sanders added.

"Play by ear," Booth said.

"A foot in the door is not likely to result in injury if a person was wearing appropriate footwear. And my reaction to 'a shot in the arm' is that it is painful, as I have in fact been shot in the arm before, so I speak from personal experience. And if you are making references to expressions related to the bones in the body, I will again remind you that your ear is made of cartilage, not bone," Brennan answered, pinching and wiggling Booth's ear.

"Hey," he yelped, playfully swatting her hand away from his head, as she smirked.

"Oh. Okay… I've got one," Booth said proudly. "You have to know this one _Booones_. Ready? 'Sticks and stones may break my _Bones_…" Booth started.

Brennan's eyes lit up in excitement because she did, in fact, know this one.

"But chains and whips excite me!" she shouted proudly.

Booth had chosen the wrong moment to taken a sip of his coffee and was grateful for Brennan's forceful back patting as he choked on it.

"Bones!" he eventually gasped exasperatedly.

"What?" she asked innocently. "That's how the song goes."

Monroe and Sanders were doing their best to contain their laughter. But they were not successful. "That _is_ how the song goes, Booth," Sanders stuttered out.

"It's 'but words can never hurt me.' Words. Can. Never. Hurt. Me," he sounded out. "It's a very well known expression," Booth said, shaking his head in amazement of his partner.

"Well, that's nonsensical. Words aren't things. You can't shoot words at people or stab people with words. Of course they can't hurt you."

"Okay, it's time to go to work, Bones," Booth said, scowling at the still chuckling agents as he led his partner out of the room. "Sorry about the tickets, guys…" he said, before they left. The agents could still here them talking down the hall.

"Will you teach me some more of these colloquial body phrases?"

"Sure Bones, I'll lend you some of my index cards to take notes on so you can study," he said teasingly.

She put her hand in his face and playfully pushed him away. "Talk to the phalanges, Booth."

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><p><em><strong>P.S. If you didn't get the joke, I encourage you to listen to Rhianna's song "S&amp;M". Cause I giggle thinking of Brennan's reaction here every time I hear it. (Perhaps I'm just too prone to giggling?)<strong>_

_**P.P.S. Have you heard of #ProjectBones? Visit fellow FF writer Thnx4thegum's Livejournal page to learn more about the summer fan projects underway! (thnx4thegum (dot) livejournal (dot) com)**_

_**Finally, reviews are treasured. And while I have several "Coffee" shots already done, writing prompts are strongly encouraged. The muse needs your help! :D**_


	2. What's in a Name?

**Given the number of alerts on this story, I'm going to say unfocused humor works for you guys? : )**

**There is nothing, NOTHING that annoys me more than fanfic writers changing Booth and Brennan's names once they're partners in *every* sense of the word. He will always be Booth to her (_never Seeley_) and she will definitely always, always be "Bones" (_never Tempe, rarely Temperance_). *shudders* And maybe, given the HH's song choice in the S5 finale, he could call her "Baby"… it's all about timing though. :)**

**If you don't grasp the concept, I'm not sure what show you've been watching. Maybe this here could convince you? *fingers crossed***

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><p><strong>What's in a Name?<strong>

"So, I've been wondering about something…" Angela murmured, watching her best friend make herself a cup of coffee at the break area above the platform.

"What's that?" Brennan asked distractedly as she carefully stirs her drink to perfection.

"What do you call Booth?" Angela asked, unable to hide a grin.

Brennan gave her a patented "Are you stupid?" look and asked, "Is that supposed to be a hoax question?"

"Trick question, sweetie, the phrase is 'trick question' and no, this isn't one of them."

"I call Booth 'Booth,'" she said, sipping her coffee.

"Not just when you're working or talking or whatever. I mean, when you're, you know, in the throws of… you know."

"You mean when we're making love?" Angela chuckled at how that phrase has forever replaced the words 'sex' and 'coitus' in her friend's vocabulary when it comes to Booth.

"I've told you that Booth prefers that I don't discuss details and I want to respect his wishes, Ange."

"I'm not asking for measurements or a performance report. Although…" Brennan gave her a pointed stare and Angela raised her hands in concession.

"Come on Bren, just give me a little something to go with for my imagination."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you imagining what you want to imagine. And besides, why would I call Booth something other than Booth when we're in bed?"

"Well, he has another name. Do you ever call him 'Seeley'?"

"Booth doesn't like his first name. Why would I call him a name he doesn't like?"

"It just strikes me that… um… people, you know… _women_, who he has been with in the past call him Seeley."

"By people, I'm assuming you mean Cam and Hannah?"

"And Tessa. And Rebecca too, if I recall."

"Yes, they all called him his first name. I don't see your point."

"Well, why don't you call him by his first name?"

Brennan made a face. "That would be akin to him calling me Temperance. That sounds… wrong."

"What sounds wrong?" said the man in question, bounding up the stairs and toward the women.

"Angela wants to know if I'm ever inclined to call you 'Seeley.'"

"Oh God… please, don't start doing that," he responded and she chuckled at the nearly horrified look on his face.

"Other people call you Seeley, Booth. Other _women_," Angela drawled out.

"Other men have called me Temperance, but that doesn't mean I want Booth to start referring to me by my first name."

"Why not?" Angela asks.

"Because she's Bones."

"My name is Bones."

They answered simultaneously and shared one of those looks that Angela's knows means a whole meaningful conversation is taking place under the guise of a glance.

Because with that look, he doesn't say that Seeley is the name his Mom used to cry and his Dad used to yell in a drunken rage, just before he was about to take hit from a fist or a kick from a boot.

And with that look, she doesn't say that Temperance isn't even her real name, but a false identity her bank robbing parents gave her while trying to hide from the law for a decade before they abandoned her altogether.

He doesn't say that Booth is what he went by once he got off the streets of Philly and into the army, where for the first time, he became his own man and when people call him Seeley, it's either because they were either a part of his dark past or because he's never let them in far enough for them to know any better.

She doesn't say that she likes 'Bones' because the man who nicknamed her became the first person to give her a place and a person to belong to since she was a child, when he swore "I know who you are," despite her different identities, her celebrity status and her academic reputations.

"So it's decided," Angela said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "You don't call her Temperance and she doesn't call you Seeley," she said, pointing at them respectively.

"I don't believe it was a decision of recent consequence but your conclusion is correct."

"So, in bed, you're just 'Booth and Bones?'" Angela asked, seeing Booth's face twitch with a grin he tried to cover.

Brennan saw the twitch too and rolled her eyes. "Come on…" Angela prodded.

"He may…" Brennan started with a huff. "From time to time, he calls me 'baby.'"

Angela let out a shocked squeak. "And you let him get away with that?"

Booth chose this moment to put his arm around and whisk his eye-rolling forensic anthropologist back to her office, but still managed to throwback over his shoulder, "She's usually a little too busy thanking God to call me on it."

"Booth!" Brennan shouted, landing a playful smack to his shoulder.

"Geez, Bones, you're such a prude."

"Just so you know, _this_ will someday be a baby," she said, placing her hand on her abdomen, "while _I_ am a fully-grown woman."

"Yeah you are," he murmured knowingly.

"And here I thought pregnancy was supposed to make _me _more amorous," she shot back sarcastically.

"Apparently, it works both ways… Baby."

The partners didn't notice that Angela continued to follow them with eyes and ears, listening to their banter until they were back in Brennan's office, working on the case. After putting up with seven years of nearly unbearable sexual tension, she figured she'd earned it.

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><p><strong>I'd love to know your thoughts... or if you are someone who *needs* more convincing that changing their names is like breaking a Bones commandment. Just Saying… :)<strong>


	3. The Fifth Day

_**My dear JMHaughey insisted I post this as soon as possible. She even beta'd it so I'd get up here and I owe her oodles of thanks for that. **_

_**Shoutout to BonesSarah, who gets a namesake in this fic for the 'foxy' card she sent me when I was having a crappy string of days last week. You da best!**_

_**This storyline isn't original… but it's the first time I've done it, so…. Someday, I'll remember which author wrote the thing that Booth said in her fic about joy and wonder and fear that totally prompted my muse here… I went in search of it, but for the life of me, I'm drawing a blank. Also, I said this series would have happy, sad, angry and funny stories. This is… definitely 'one' of those things. : )**_

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><p>Angela searched every room in the house before she finally found her friend, standing in a thin layer of clothes on her back porch. Angela hurriedly grabbed a coat and poured two cups of coffee, joining her on the porch.<p>

"You know you're going to freeze to d…" Angela started, stopping herself short of completing the phrase. "You need to put this coat on. It's barely 20 degrees out here."

Angela put the cups of coffee down and physically worked the coat on her, while Brennan remained unresponsive. "Here," she said, picking the cups of coffee back up. "You need to drink this."

Brennan simply stared at the cup of coffee in her hands, letting seconds, minutes, maybe hours, she really couldn't tell, before she softly uttered two words. "Five days."

"Five days?" Angela asked, even though she knew the significance of the time period. And the stories she was about to hear… she had heard them many times before. But that wasn't going to keep her from letting Brennan tell it.

"Tomorrow will be the fifth day that I've woken up without him. I can't say that I've really slept this past week, but anytime I close my eyes long enough for sleep to near, I wake up. Wide awake. And… every time, I expect him to be there. But no one's there."

Angela simply nodded and waited for her to continue.

"You know, when we first got together… I mean, really together. I remember the first time he told me he loved me. He says he barely remembers that time, because he was… he says he meant to say it, but really, he didn't plan it. It just… slipped out. And once he realized it had, he was overcome with this panic at my reaction to it.

"But he always says he barely remembers the first time. Booth says it's the next hundred or so I love yous he remembers best. Because he watched my eyes every time he said it. And he says in my eyes, he saw three things. Joy. Wonder. Fear. And the joy and the fear he understood. He said it was the wonder that always caught his breath. Metaphorically of course, because I can't ever recall him falling unconscious just by looking at me."

"Why was it the 'wonder' that took his breath away?" Angela asked with a chuckle.

"He said that the 'wonder' he saw in my eyes was the part of me that couldn't believe he loved me. That I was worthy of his love or anyone's love. That I had a hard time believing that every morning, from every 'I love you' on, when I woke up, he was going to be there. It seems silly, making a promise like that. The idea that we would never spend a night apart for the rest of our lives? I mean… it sounds ridiculous, right?"

"It'd be a tough promise to keep for some," Angela said softly.

"Yes," Brennan nodded, before continuing.

"There was this case, back when Sarah was nearly four-years-old, and we realized as we went to pick her up from school before we left that she had caught the chicken pox. One of us had to stay home with her and I insisted Booth should take the case because I wanted to stay. And reluctantly, he went. I was so busy with Sarah that day, I didn't realize until I'd gotten into bed that it was the first night we had been apart since… well, it was the first night we slept apart since we knew about Sarah. Even through our worst fights, there was no couch, no spare bedroom," Brennan chuckled. "I used to think I thrived on being alone, on having my own place, my own space. But even when we couldn't look at each other or were too angry to speak to one another, we shared our bed."

"That's what you two do," Angela confirmed.

"Yeah…" Brennan said thoughtfully. "That first week we were apart, I had Parker too. It was our week and Rebecca was away on business anyways. I swear, Booth only had a couple of hours before we decided he was going and his flight, so he didn't have much time to plan. But somehow, he got with Parker and convinced a then-surly 15-year-old to get up early every morning for five days, sneak in to my bedroom and put Booth, in some manner, on his side of the bed."

"What did Parker do?" Angela asked with a smile, already remembering the answers to her question.

Brennan laughed. "The first morning, I awoke to find one of Booth's suits lying on his side of the bed. There was a pair of wild striped socks at the bottom to complete the outfit and on his pillow, Parker put his can of hair mousse," Brennan remembered fondly.

"On the second morning, I woke up to find my laptop sitting on my bed, camera on and Booth was watching me, from the bed in his hotel room. It looked like he was sleeping right next to me, if you didn't pay attention to the screen."

"What'd they do the third morning?"

"I heard Parker come in and set everything up… after the first day, my ears were more attune to his movements around the house early in the morning. So, after Parker 'snuck out,' Booth apologized when I turned to find that the computer was set-up again the same way it had been on Wednesday. He said they couldn't decide on a creative way to wake me up that didn't involve putting sports equipment in the bed, but they'd think on it really hard for the fourth day."

"Did they come up with anything good?"

"They did. On the fourth morning, Sarah was feeling better, so Parker carried Sarah into the bedroom, and I woke up to find them both lying next to me. Parker said that he was half Booth, and Sarah was half Booth which made them one whole Booth. He told me I taught him fractions well."

Both Brennan and Angela were heartily laughing at this point.

"What about the fifth morning?"

"It was a Saturday. Booth always says Saturdays are for sleeping in. So, my biological Saturday alarm clock, over time, shifted more toward 7:30, rather than 6 a.m. That bought Parker sometime, which he used to create a breakfast. The world's longest breakfast."

Angela laughed. "What do you mean, 'the world's _longest_ breakfast'?"

"Parker said I was special enough to have earned a seven-course meal. When I mentioned that longer meals with courses like that were meant for dinner, not breakfast, he ran out of the room without saying a word. Two minutes later, he ran back in and said 'Any Average Joe can eat a seven-course dinner. But Bones, you're way, way above average. So way above, you busted a mold."

"You busted a mold?"

"Parker had run out of the room to call Booth, who I was very clear was on the other line, because Sarah had climbed into bed with me and said 'Parker's calling Daddy right now.' And Booth told him what to say, but 'broke the mold' came out 'busted a mold.' Booth said later that I was simply rubbing off on Parker with my inability to get common phrasing correct."

"That sounds like something he'd say," Angela said smiling thoughtfully.

"So the first course was coffee. And the second course was toast. And the third course was orange juice, which was to, as Parker said, 'cleanse the toast from my pallet'. And the fourth course, and yes, he brought each of these items in separately, and then waited for me to finish them before he left the room to start the other course… the fourth course was fruit. Not sliced up fruit or a mixture of berries, which we had in the refrigerator by the way. No, Parker and Sarah brought in a whole apple, a whole orange and a whole banana."

"Did he make you eat all three fruits?"

"It was at this point that I insisted that the two of them help me and each picked a fruit to eat. Then came the fifth course, cereal, which took him nearly 10 minutes to prepare. And he forgot the milk, so there was further delay. And then the sixth course was yogurt, and by this time, I was plenty full, so I tried to pretend that I ate the entire yogurt, hoping he wouldn't notice. But Sarah caught me and reminded me of the rule to finish what's on your plate. So, finally, I finished the yogurt."

"What was the seventh course?"

"Parker took away all of the food and drinks and then came back in and told me I had to cover my eyes and ears with a pillow. Now, I think I had learned a thing or two by this point when it came to trusting my motherly instincts and the idea of not being able to hear or see my children had me on alert. But I heard Sarah giggling in the hallway, so I figured whatever the surprise was, it was right outside the door. So, cautiously, I did as Parker asked and put the pillow over my head. I counted to 10 in my head before I felt the bed start to shift. Parker had put this breakfast tray on my lap, with bars to hold it up on either side of my legs. And I felt one side go down and then the other and all I thought right away was 'this tray is really weighted down.' It took me another second to realize that weight, while familiar, was not the weight of a tray, but that of my partner."

"That's so… Booth," Angela remarked dreamily.

Brennan laughed some more at the memory. "When he took the pillow off of my head, he said he couldn't stand the thought of not being beside me one more morning before I got out of our bed to start the day."

"He's just… wow. He's just too cute."

Brennan smiled, before her eyes welled with tears. "Thirty-six years, Ange, and we never spent that many nights in a row apart again. I may have woken up without him that fifth day, but I didn't get out of bed until he we were together. In more than 36 years time, I don't think it adds up to 30 days total that we spent apart at night."

"I know sweetie," Angela said soothingly, wrapping her arm around her friend.

"Tomorrow will be the fifth day, Angela. The fifth morning he won't be there. The fifth time I look at his side of the bed and realize its cold from being unoccupied. The fifth day to pass since he told me he loves me. He said years and years ago, awhile after Sarah had been born, that he finally saw it. He finally saw the fear leave and most of the wonderment fade away with just the joy remaining and he knew I really believed him. And he loved that. That I finally just knew, had faith, believed that no matter what, he was going to be there, despite the lifetime of evidence I had to the contrary, that he would be an exception to all the rules I had ever known."

Brennan toiled with the ring on her hand until it slid off her finger and she showed it to Angela. She looked inside the band and read "The exception to all the rules," out loud.

Brennan put her ring back on her finger. "It was shortly after he told me that, that I proposed to him. Which of course, annoyed him, because he swears he was working up the courage to do it."

Angela chuckled as she recalled many arguments over the years on that very topic.

"It's not fair, Ange," Brennan said softly as she choked back a sob. "He said he wanted 30 or 40 or 50 years with me. I wanted 50. I wanted 50 years, dammit, and I feel cheated that I didn't get them all," she cried as her tears started to fall. Angela just grabbed on to her tighter and held her.

"Tomorrow's will be the fifth day and he's never been gone that long. He's never been away that long. And I find I don't want to wake up tomorrow and set a new record. Today, I'm supposed to watch his body go into the ground. His body which will eventually become just his bones and all I want to do is scream 'I'm his Bones!' and crawl in there with him, so if I have to wake up another day, he'll be there too."

Angela rocked her and spoke nonsensically to Brennan as she sobbed, eventually walking her inside the house to get her dressed and ready for the cemetery.

**ooOooOooOooOoo**

Booth's burial was delayed due to the sudden snowfall that blanketed the city. Whiteout conditions sent the many mourners from the cemetery back to the Booth residence for a day of commiserating about their friend, father, uncle, grandfather, colleague and partner.

Later that night, Brennan refused to sleep in their bed. But the next morning, her children discovered her there anyways.

The doctor said she had died peacefully in her sleep overnight. There was no medical cause to be tied to her death. But until the day she died, Angela told anyone who would listen that it was in the very last moments of Temperance Brennan's life that she understood a term she deemed impossible her entire life. Because no mystery of science, no logical conclusion could overshadow the fact that Temperance Brennan simply died of a broken heart.

Angela made the arrangements as quickly as she could so that by the end of the day, the fifth day, Temperance Brennan was laid to rest, side by side with her husband of 33 years, her partner of nearly 42. The following day, the blizzard had passed and their friends and family still present said their final goodbyes before the burial commenced.

Mourners gathered around the gravesite to say their final goodbyes to both of them. Angela relayed the story Brennan had told her about their first five mornings apart and how Brennan, as stubborn as she had always been, found a way to ensure, they would never come close to breaking that record.

"_I can't say that I know whether or not there's an afterlife once you depart this world. Booth would have insisted upon it. Brennan would have scoffed at it. _

_Booth used to say 'I can't live without my Bones,' because he knew it would prompt Brennan to respond 'Of course not, everyone needs their skeletal structure to survive.' But the truth is, we all know that he really couldn't live without her, his Bones. And Brennan, and I suppose it would be appropriate to say that she couldn't live without her Booth._

_They have faced more than their fair share of tests and challenges since the day they met. Tests of loyalty, tests of strength. Obstacles have been thrown in their paths, challenges insurmountable to many of us mere mortals. And blessings, in the form of their children, their family and in simply finding each other in a world that was too often cold and cruel to them, that they could not begin to count. Booth once said that he__ stood over death with her and he faced death down with her. Now, whether there's an afterlife where I imagine Booth is doing some ridiculous dance over the fact that he was right, or whether this ground we stand on will simply be the place to commemorate the bones that once were Booth and Brennan, they have succumbed to and conquered death, together, one last time. _

_Temperance Brennan will forever be my hero, my best friend, my sister. And my love and gratitude is eternal for Seeley Booth, the man who loved her best, loved her most, loves her always. And while it's okay that those of us here are sad and mourning the loss of their presence in our lives, angry over an unexpected cancer that claimed him too quickly and a bit of jealousy over a love so strong that her heart literally broke without him, I also choose to celebrate today. I will celebrate this amazing crime-fighting, genius-rearing, mold-busting, exception-to-every-rule partnership that even death could not break up. _

A couple of weeks later, flowers were laid to rest at the shared tombstone put in place. The stone was made of a unique mineral that Hodgins had specially ordered, figuring these two people's existence could not be commemorated by any ordinary stone. The engraving simply read as follows:

_The Exception to All the Rules_

_Here lie the Bones of_

_Seeley Booth_

_Born February 22, 1971_

_and_

_Temperance Brennan_

_Born June 14, 1976_

_Partners on Earth_

_September 2005 – April 2047_

_Partners Eternally Hereafter_

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><p><em><strong>I don't cry at real people's funerals. I don't tend to cry about real life things at all. But I do cry watching movies, reading sad stories… and I cried while writing this fic. (Don't tell anyone, okay?) What's that say about me that fiction and a stubbed toe are my top prompts for the waterworks?<strong>_

_**Oh… and did anyone get the significance regarding the date of their deaths? Cause I just couldn't help myself... : )**_

_**Me? I love reviews. That is all! **_


	4. NoNo to BoBo

***looks at the reviews from the last chapter* Sooooo… sobbing goes over well with you lovely people? *makes a note of that* **

**Props to all the kids on Twitter who've come up with a bunch of baby nicknames would should definitely, definitely NOT use to refer to Baby Brennan-Booth. *Not* use. As in, no way, no how. Let's keep working on that nickname. - I say this with all of my love intended to whoever came up with these names (the origins are truly unknown to me). **

**This could be OOC. Or not… we just don't know yet. I really look forward to seeing Brennan's personality develop with her pregnancy in season seven. **

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><p>"What's everyone doing up here?" Angela asked the men gathered around Cam at the coffee station above the platform.<p>

Wendell and Sweets looked guiltily toward Angela as if they'd just been caught. Hodgins however, easily spilled the beans.

"We're hiding from Doctor B. She's in one of her, you know," Hodgins shrugged before pulling up the air quotes. "_Moods_."

"Did you guys stand around and discuss me when I was pregnant like this?"

A chorus of unbelievable "No. No? No!" was uttered and Angela shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Give her a break guys. The only thing tougher than a woman's first trimester is her second and third. And then, you know, the whole giving-birth thing."

"Yeah, but things are even worse today," Wendell said in a loud whisper, as he looked around him to ensure the coast was clear. "Apparently, she and Booth had a fight this morning about the baby's name."

"But they don't even know the sex of the child yet?" Sweets interjected incredulously.

"The baby's nickname," Wendell clarified. "Booth calls the, you know," he said, pointing at his abdomen while making a gesture for a pregnant belly, "'the baby,' but Doctor B insists that, you know," he said, repeating the gesture, "is just a fetus in development. So she calls it 'the fetus.'"

Angela chuckled. "So the easy solution is that they need a gender neutral, non-baby nickname for 'the fetus' to prevent future arguments."

Cam snorted. "You're going to have to do a lot more than come up with a cleaver nickname to prevent Booth and Brennan from arguing ever again." Then, Cam thought,_ I assume such a solution would involve sex and muzzles_.

All eyes turned to Cam in shock. "Did I say that outloud?" Cam asked. Angela merely nodded.

"Ooh, I came up with one," Sweets said, looking a little too proud over the task. "Broth."

"Uhh?" the group replied nearly in unison.

"You know how celebrities combine their name when they're a couple. Brennan plus Booth equals 'Broth.'"

"No," the group replied nearly in unison.

Sweets pouted and at a near whine asked "Why not?"

"Chicken broth or vegetable broth. He's a meat eater, she's a vegetarian. Even I can see that fight over a nickname coming," Wendell said.

"Well, that's a highly irrational reason to have a fight."

"I know this will shock you all, but Doctor Temperance Brennan, queen of rationality, is taking an extended vacation for the duration of her pregnancy. Mommy-to-be-Brennan is here in her place. Get used to it," Angela defended.

Hodgins snapped his fingers. "You know what it could be? Baby BoBo! You know, '_Bo_oth'and '_Bo_nes'. Baby BoBo!"

"Hodgins, I love Angela like a sister, but if I ever hear you refer to my progeny as 'BoBo' again, I will stick a clown mask on your head and push you toward Booth while he's armed," Brennan said, surprising the group with her presence.

Cam quickly covered her mouth in shock as Hodgins, Wendell and Sweets eyes simply grew wide with fear at the sight of the approaching anthropologist. Angela, on the other hand, just laughed. A lot.

"How are those hormones treating you there, sweetie?"

Brennan glared at her friend and the group firmly standing in a nearly single-lined formation behind the only woman brave enough to address the expectant mother.

"Why are you all staring at me? Is there not a murder to solve?" Brennan snapped.

"No sweetie, there isn't," Angela responded sympathetically.

"There's a basement full of bodies and none of us know how they died. Perhaps Mr. Bray should consider studying one of them. And perhaps, Doctor Hodgins could check for particulates and study the materials stowed with each set of remains to help us identify the person. And Angela, perhaps you could help give these people a face. Perhaps Cam has work to do regarding the many other departments she oversees as administrator. And Sweets… you don't even _work_ here!"

Cam's eyes widened at Brennan's tone as the men scattered from the group with their coffee and down the stairs. Obviously, this kind of outburst was something a supervisor could not allow from any employee. "Doctor Brennan, could I speak…" But Cam was quickly cut off.

"Freebie!" Brennan said at a near shout, slamming her hands on the table in front of her and squeezing her eyes shut in exasperation.

Cam put up her hands in defeat and addressed Angela. "I'm just… going to… be…go work in my office. Yeah," she finished as she walked away.

Brennan returned to pouring her decaf coffee, her stupid decaffeinated coffee as Angela turned to address her. "Sweetie, are you okay?" she asked softly.

"I'm fine," she spat as she threw the coffee pot back down on the counter.

"Here's the cream," Angela said, passing her the container.

The angry expression on Brennan's face immediately switched to something else. Something that caught Angela completely off guard.

"Oh, Bren, sweetie, don't cry," Angela said as she engulfed her friend in a hug.

Tears started streaming down Brennan's face as she embraced Angela. "I don't deserve a friend like you, Ange."

"Aww, sweetie," Angela chuckled. "It was just cream."

"But you know things, like the fact I like cream in my coffee. You're just… a really amazing friend," Brennan said sincerely as she pulled back from their hug and wiped the tears from her face.

"That's what friends do. Help each other solve murders and pass the right condiments," Angela said soothingly, earning a chuckle from Brennan.

Brennan turned back to the counter and looked at her cup of coffee as she went to pour the cream into it. "Angela?" she said in a whisper.

"Yeah, Bren."

"I really hate decaf," she got out in a near sob as she put the cream back down.

"Oh, I know sweetie," Angela answered, rubbing her back in a soothing motion. She then picked up the pot of regular coffee and poured a bit of it into Brennan's cup, before adding a splash of the creamer.

"There. It'll be our secret."

A radiating smile replaced the tears and sadness on Temperance Brennan's face in a mere second. It happened so quickly, Angela had to bite back a laugh.

"Thanks Angela," she said, smiling as she took a sip of her coffee and linked arms with her friend.

"Now, let's get you back to your office where you can take a nap."

"A nap? I'm a grown woman and I'm at work. I do not require 'nap time' Angela," Brennan snapped.

"Bren, sweetie. You're a genius. But for the next few months, I am going to know more about something than you do. You should just accept the fact that I am your expert on this particular subject now and things for you and me will go much smoother."

"But I don't need a nap."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"Yes you dooooo…" Angela sung as she walked her down the stairs and to her office to put her hormonal friend to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Just Say NoNo to BoBo. :) Please. Also… anyone out there have a writing prompt? I'll take a whole idea or a single word… the writer in me needs your help. I have no new material to work with every Thursday. <strong>

**I think you're _really _pretty. And I definitely didn't say that to butter you up so you'd leave a review. Promise.**


	5. Love Monkey

_***waves* Sometimes, I just sit down and type something with no intentions and that's what this is. The timeline's a little skewed, just because Parker is older in the current canon of the show than I think of him in this story. You decide how old he is... It's less than in-canon, but it's not AU either. It's not my finest work, just meant to unstick the muse in exchanged for maybe good to half-hearted chuckle.**_

_**Remember: It's an important rule of this series that you drink coffee or another beverage while at your computer reading this.***_

_***Disclaimer: Not responsible for any damage done to your computer. *shrugs***_

* * *

><p><strong>Love Monkey<strong>

They were running late to Parker's school, stuck in traffic as they were driving back from an interview with a witness in Baltimore. Booth had been planning to go to his son's parent-teacher conference with Rebecca, but since he wouldn't have time to both drop Brennan off and make it to the school on-time, he asked her reluctantly to come with her.

It wasn't that he didn't _want_ her there. But their more 'personal' relationship was still new and Booth knew if the tables had been turned and Rebecca brought one of her new 'boyfriends' to any event concerning Parker, any inanimate objects in the immediate vicinity would have feared for their lives. But, Brennan wasn't new to him or Parker… or Rebecca really, for that matter.

Nonetheless, she sensed his hesitancy in having her tag along.

"I can call for a cab and meet you back at my place later?"

When he shot that down, she offered to just stay in the car. Booth laughed at that one – he couldn't remember the last time she had _ever_ stayed in the car when he asked her to. Somehow, he didn't think this would change just because she offered to do so this time.

Truth was, these parent-teacher conferences tended to bore Booth and he knew from experience Rebecca felt the same way. Brennan, on the other hand, had been asking questions about which teachers he would be speaking to tonight and offering her opinion as to what areas Parker's teachers should offer additional enrichment opportunities to suit his education based on his current knowledge and set of skills.

And during the last leg of their journey toward the school, as Brennan spoke with different members of her team via phone regarding lab results and examinations, Booth's mind wondered to the world of what-ifs and fantasy, as he considered what it would be like to raise a child that resembled his ever-curious, always knowledge-seeking partner. He assumed that their child would be just as curious as Parker and likely, wicked smart thanks to her Mom.

Drifting happily in his fantasy world as he drove, he failed to hear Brennan the first couple of times she called for him.

"Booth?" she said for the third time, reaching out and touching his arm. He jumped in response to being startled and she frowned.

"It's not exactly safe to sector out while driving Booth. Would you like to pull over and I can drive the rest of the way?"

"Sector out?" he questioned as he worked through what she had said. Crime scenes were often divided into different sectors when the scene was being swept for more evidence than what appeared to the untrained eye. Then each zone would be marked with a… _Ah!_

"Zone out. You mean zone out, Bones. And I'm just fine behind the wheel thank you." His lips curved slightly at the feel of her scowl across the air between them.

"Besides, we're here," Booth said, gesturing with his hand toward the campus appearing before them. A few more minutes of driving around for parking near an entrance marked as 'open' and they were out of the car and walking inside.

They navigated down several hallways, each one getting bigger in decorative height with the cubbies and lockers that adorned the walls until they made it to Parker's hallway. Immediately, they heard a familiar voice.

"Dad!" Parker shouted, as he moved through another group of parents to see his Dad.

"Hey Bub," Booth greeted, giving him a quick squeeze around the shoulders, as this was the most he was allowed to do at his son's assistance now. He greeted Brennan and gave her the same, before grabbing her hand and walking them towards his mother.

"Seeley, Doctor Brennan, it's nice to see you," Rebecca greeted politely.

"Sorry we're a few minutes late, Becs. Just got back from talking to a witness and I just barely had enough time to beat traffic on the Beltway to get here, much less drop Bones off," he said, still unsure at how his ex would react at bring his partner slash _partner_ to a parent's event.

"I'm glad you're here, actually," Rebecca said, turning her attention to Brennan. "You know more about his upcoming science fair and project than I can pretend to understand."

Eventually, Parker took Brennan's attention away from the other adults and started showing her his most recent work from his art class and talked to her about how difficult he was finding his math class to be, which of course was the fault of the teacher, because he insisted that Parker show his work on all of his homework, but Parker had an easier time doing the math in his head. Brennan explained that scientists always have to document every step to an experiment, even if they can do the math in their head, so the practice was quite common of students much older than him. This seemed to appease him.

Booth walked over to Brennan and Parker, carrying two cups of coffee from the snack table outside the classroom in little Styrofoam cups. This led to Parker's next lesson in materials that were biodegradable and how the cup that held her coffee was going to litter the Earth for hundreds, if not thousands of years.

"Ms. Stinson, Mr. Booth?" a woman called out from a doorway. Parker and all of the adults began to walk towards the young woman and they Parker reintroduced his mother and father, even though the teacher had met them both already.

"Mrs. Dennis, this is Bones," Parker said, and Brennan, a little hesitantly since she still wasn't sure about her place at Parker's parent-teacher conference, extended her hand to meet the teacher's in greeting.

"Bones is an unusual name," his teacher commented.

"Her real name is Doctor Temperance Brennan."

"Like the author?" the teacher asked.

"Yep. But my Dad calls her Bones. I do too. He also calls her his partner because they work together at the FBI." The teacher started to nod as if she understood, but Parker continued.

"And at home, he's allowed to call her his love monkey."

Booth choked on the sip of bad coffee his was drinking as Rebecca snorted in surprise.

Brennan's eyes were wide and cheeks flushed as she recalled the conversation Parker must have overheard.

**_Four Days Earlier_**

"_That's just something girlfriends do, Bones."_

"_Well, then it's surely not something I am required to do, since I am not a girl."_

_Booth grabbed her around the waist as she went to walk around him in the kitchen, headed for the refrigerator. "If I can't call you my girlfriend, I'm going to have to use another word, Bones."_

"_How many other words do you need for me? I'm already _Bones_, your _partner_ if you're looking for a title, per say," she said playfully, as she tried to untangle herself from his grasp. _

"_Doesn't feel like enough Bones. I could call you my 'special lady friend.' My paramour. Kitten. Buttercup. My little Love Monkey…" he suggested as he nibbled on her neck, her attempt at resistance becoming more futile._

"_Booth, we talked about Kitten already," she said as seriously as she could manage. " And I swear, if I ever hear you call me 'Buttercup,' I will cause permanent injury to your…" her voice trailed, whispering where she intended to injure him as she indicated the area on his body to be affected._

"_Promise?" he asked suggestively._

"_Booooooth…" she groaned half-heartedly in disapproval, smacking his arm still tightly locked around her. _

"_Fine, if I can't call you Buttercup, my Little Love Monkey it is…"_

"_I am not a monkey!" she said, successfully reaching the sink to turn on the water._

"_Doctor Brennan, I'm shocked at your dismay! Didn't we all evolve from monkeys!" he gasped mockingly._

_His dramatic gasp allowed her the opportunity to grab the sink sprayer and turn on him._

"_Get him Bones!" Parker yelled, finally alerting the adults to his presence. . .  
><em>

"And Mrs. Dennis?" Parker added, looking very seriously at her teacher. "Whatever you do, do _not_ call her buttercup. The punishment for calling her that looks really, _really_ painful." Parker made a shivering gesture as his teacher tried to contain her amusement. A task she performed better than Rebecca, who was bent at the waist with laughter.

Booth guided Brennan through the door, both looking equally embarrassed. The door shut behind them, but Booth opened it again and grabbed Rebecca's arm to pull her into the room, mumbling "Will you get in here?" and "It's not that funny Becs…"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks to my betaformer school teacher for betaing… and unknowingly staring in the role of "Parker's Teacher." ; )**_

_**Your thoughts using the little button below are always welcomed. Unless I don't like you. Or you're a terrorist. #Honesty**_


	6. A Novel Idea

**_Whaaaaat? Two updates in two days? Turns out, Bones premieres in about a month and apparently, I'm excited. _**

**_Couldn't have done it without Some1tookmyname's lightening fast beta skills. You HAVE read her stuff by now, right?_**

**_I'm not telling you anything about the when and the where and the when of this story. You'll figure it out… eventually. :) _**

_*a late edit... a reader pinged me to thank me for this companion piece to another story of mine, "Public Opinion." I never intended it to be such a piece... but I think she's kind of right. It's obviously not a continuation of that story (which I don't intend to do)... but it kind of fits in there with a couple points made in the most epically long Bones thesis. :) *  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>A Novel Idea…<strong>

.

She made it through her door and to the mirror in her bedroom. Putting her hands down on the vanity, she allowed herself a deep breath before she looked at her reflection.

_Had she really hit…_

She stared at her reflection, wide-eyed in disbelief as she recalled the events of the last hour.

_She couldn't have said…_

But she did.

Eventually, though she wasn't sure how much time had passed, she moved from the vanity to her shower. And from the shower to her bed.

It was far too early for bed.

But that didn't really matter since she couldn't really sleep.

...

It had been a week since it happened. A week since she had stormed out. She hadn't slept at all the first night. After arriving at work far too early that morning, she had finally fallen asleep at an examination table. In the middle of the lab. In the middle of the day.

When Angela quietly woke her up, she moved to the couch in her office for a bit of fitful sleep.

Because despite what had happened and the things that had been said, she dreamed about him.

All the time.

After a few days, he was so permeated into her mind that if she shut her eyes, he was there.

She hated that.

She hated HIM.

Only, not really. Not at all, in fact.

Though she did hate his annoying habit of always being in her damn head every damn second of every damn day.

When Angela asked what had happened, she told her that she really, _really_ hated him.

Angela said, "Hate is a strong passion. As passionate as love. I believe that you can only really hate someone if you love them even more. Otherwise, you just dislike them strongly."

She had no time to formulate a response to Angela since her best friend walked out of her office with a smile Brennan couldn't quite define.

Damn head. Damn dreams. Damn day. Damn him.

...

Two weeks later, she was growing increasingly less tolerant of the human race. Even Angela, who had built exceptional patience for her and Zack, who lacked awareness of most social interactions as they happened around him, gave her a wide berth.

One day, after snapping at every technician in sight, she stormed off the platform toward her office.

But before she got far, she heard Doctor Hodgins comment that "She needs to get _laid_."

She wasn't familiar with his terminology, but kept walking anyway.

She searched for the phrasing later on the Internet.

His voice echoed in her head. _"She needs to get laid."_

She agreed.

...

She pocketed the business card in her jeans and it followed her home that day.

She sat at her kitchen table, contemplating her plan to do as Hodgins had suggested.

Stress relief. Sexual intercourse was a great activity to relieve stress.

Sleep. She always got a good night sleep after sexual intercourse due to the physical exertion.

And she hadn't slept well in weeks now.

Calling him? It was for her health. And he was interested. He said as much himself.

She picked up the phone and dialed the number on the card.

"Hello, Peter? It's Doctor Temperance Brennan..."

...

Months. It had been four months since she had last seen him. Four months since _the incident_.

Two months since she had begun dating the physicist and engaging in sexual intercourse on a regular basis.

One month since she had gone from jogging twice a week to five days a week.

Three weeks since she had enrolled in a kickboxing class. She already knew several types of martial arts. What's one more?

It was a late Saturday afternoon, and she had been tucked away at the lab since early morning. After working hours without a break, she realized she needed coffee to maintain her current level of productivity. The machine at the lab was broken, so she packed up her things and headed to a coffee shop a few blocks away.

She placed her order and sat at a table by the window sipping while she fumbled through various e-mails, responding to students' questions on their research and other various requests for her expertise.

After three cups of coffee and, according to the clock, two hours of the day had passed, she looked up from her computer and stretched her arms behind her back, signaling the barista at the counter for another cup.

As she looked away from the counter, she looked out the window. And that's when she saw him.

For the first time in four months.

She nearly chuckled at the sight of him, standing on the corner of a street, looking up at the sky with his arms behind his back, and a bouquet of flowers in those hands, visible to her. A grown man, of his physique, his structure… standing on a street corner holding flowers.

She nearly laughed. Until she realized why he had flowers. Almost simultaneously with the realization as to who they were for.

A pretty woman by modern societal standards. Approximately 179 centimeters tall. Symmetrical bone structure. Long blonde hair and the skill to walk in four-inch heels. She crossed the street walking toward him and when she reached the sidewalk, he pulled the flowers from behind his back like a magician would pull them out of his sleeve.

_Horribly clichéd, _she thought.

But the woman appeared delighted at the gesture. She took them and smiled and he smiled and they just stood there, smiling at each other.

_Like fools, _she thought.

They eventually moved from that spot and strolled down the sidewalk, passing her window without spotting her, to her relief. Her eyes remained on the couple until they came to a door that he opened and guided her through, out of sight.

She stared at the door for several more minutes before she turned around and finished what was left in her cup of coffee.

She signaled the barista for another cup as she opened a word document on her computer and started typing.

_A crime scene._

_The FBI was called in. _

_They needed an expert to make sense of the crime._

_A forensic anthropologist was called to examine the remains._

_Female. Approximately 179 centimeters. Symmetrical bone structure. Blonde hair according to the roots and occupational stress fractures on her calcaneus bone, likely do to wearing high-heeled shoes regularly._

She had flown through two pages of typing by the time the barista had reached her table with her new cup of coffee.

Still focused on her typing, she stopped when she realized the barista had cleared her throat and was still standing at her table.

"I'm sorry to interrupt ma'am. You really looked like you were on a roll there. I just wanted to mention that my shift is over, but I told Andy, who will be here the rest of the night, how you like your coffee, so he can help you if you need another cup," the barista said, pointing to the young man behind the counter.

"Oh," she said. "That was very thoughtful. Thank you."

The barista nodded and began to walk away.

"Excuse me," Brennan called to her.

"Yes," the barista said, turning back to face her.

"What's your name?"

"Kathy," the barista answered.

"Thank you for your service today, Kathy," Brennan said, handing her a tip.

"Oh… thank you," the barista smiled in surprise before walking away.

Brennan looked back toward the door he had gone through earlier, then again to the counter when she heard a crash. Andy the barista had dropped something and he grabbed Kathy's shoulders to keep her from walking into the mess. They spent a moment looking at each other, slightly flustered, before Andy began cleaning up and Kathy said goodnight and left the coffee shop.

Brennan returned to her keyboard and continued typing.

Perhaps if she could get the story forming in her head down on paper, she could also get _him_ out of her head…

* * *

><p><strong><em>Are we all clear on when and where and <em>when_ this took place? This is for all the people who agree that Brennan loved Booth first. She wrote a book. About him. About her. About them. Months before she became his 'partner.' Obviously... not meant for the people who vehemently disagree.  
><em>**

**_After all, if we're all willing to accept Castle's books as love stories to Kate Beckett (the first of which he started writing right after meeting her), why do we struggle believing Brennan did the same thing (and many seasons earlier), even if she couldn't put a label on it or him?  
><em>**

**_Game. Set. Match._**

**_Love it? Love to hear about it…_**


	7. Partners, Hold the Just

_Ice is cold. Fire is hot. Water is wet. You should write fanfiction only if you enjoy doing so. Same goes for reading. Some1tookmyname makes for an excellent beta. Thursdays are sad without new Bones episodes._

_These are the facts. Facts are good. _

* * *

><p><em>.<br>_

_**Partners, **__**Hold **__**the **__**Just**__**…**_

_**.  
><strong>_

She stood across the street, watching him through the window for a few minutes. He sat down at 'their' table and address the waitress. A minute later, the waitress returned with a coffee cup and the coffee pot and poured him a glass.

She watched him grab sugar packets and listlessly stir them into his coffee. She took note of his posture, not quite slumped but far from structured and becoming, as was normal. His head fell to one of his hands as he stirred the contents of the glass, not yet picking it up.

Then she glanced to the paperwork in her hands and bit her lip, unsure of what she was about to do. He was the heart, she was the brains. That's what everyone thought and her plan had her digging a little too deeply into _his_ area. She thought again about what she wanted to say, hoping she had her thoughts organized enough to say what she needed to say to make him see her point.

Without conscious permission, she crossed the street, gravitating toward his still form in the window, overcome with the need to comfort him… to fix this, somehow.

She entered the diner, and although his back was to her, he sat up straighter, knowing instinctually that she had entered. She didn't know how he did it, but she gained the most illogical comfort from knowing that he could discern her presence out of a crowd of many.

She walked to the table, her hand minutely brushing his arm as she passed him to take a seat on the other side.

He looked at her and smiled. "Hi Bones."

His smile wasn't the usual smile he reserved for her. She smiled back, hesitantly, trying to obtain eye contact that he couldn't seem to make.

She let out a small sigh before she spoke. "You're still upset with me."

Booth picked up his coffee cup, saying "I told you, I'm not upset with you, Bones," before busying his mouth with a sip in an attempt to end the conversation.

She looked down at the papers in her hand yet again. She looked at them so long, he finally asked, "What are you reading?"

"I… I put something together to show you. It's not really that formal, but I carefully analyzed what happened last night and catalogued your reactions and I feel that I need to explain my reasoning so that you understand where I am coming from."

"Bones, I'm not upset," he said defensively and took to looking at his phone for a distraction.

"I may not be good at reading people Booth, but I can read you. And I dislike it when you lie to me," she said, a sharpness in her tone that finally earned her eye contact.

And that eye contact made her brave. "Would you read through this, please?" she asked him, passing him the first of the two documents she was holding.

His eyes narrowed as he looked skeptically at the first piece of paper in her hands, but took it anyway and began to read. A few seconds later, he looked back up at her, with a look that resembled annoyance, frustration and confusion all mixed into one, knowing for sure that she knew what had been troubling him.

Booth sighed, briefly scanning through the list in front of him again, before looking at Brennan. "What is this?"

"Last night, you seemed distressed after I stated my opposition to the term 'girlfriend'. And while I acknowledge that we are in a romantic, committed and sexually monogamous relationship with one another I would like an opportunity to explain my dislike of the term and hope that while doing so, you can keep an open mind."

Booth sighed before waving his hand to indicate she should continue.

"Thank you. First, know that I understand where you are coming from. Anthropologically speaking, titles assist us in forming our identities, shaping our actions and mores. Each of us possesses many titles. You, for example, are someone or ones grandson, son, brother, father, soldier, law officer, co-worker, friend and lover. There are other titles as well, such as Philadelphian, Catholic, reformed gambling addict, sniper, hockey player and team captain, little league coach and you carry a title as a fan of your various preferred athletic teams, just to name a few. Each one of these titles indicated your membership in different social circles of identity and has helped to shape who you are in one way or another, for better or worse. Titles are important distinctions in society, allowing individuals to identify others like them and to make public their priorities. For example, you are Parker's Father. That is a distinction that you proudly wear and share with others. "

"You forgot a title in that list," he said sarcastically, waving the paper he was holding under her nose.

"No, I'm getting to my point, Booth," she said, grabbing the paper he was creasing in his hands and laying it flat on the table. "Did you actually read it?" she inquired, earning an eye roll from Booth before he turned his attention back to the paper and read each line this time.

_ 1. Partners - Individuals and/or organizations that choose to work together for perceived mutual benefit. Working arrangements may have varying degrees of formality._

_2. Partnership - A cooperative relationship between people or groups who agree to share responsibility for achieving some specific goal_

_3. Partnership - A person who takes part in an undertaking with another or others, esp. in a business or company with shared risks and profits_

_4. Partners - Either of two people dancing together or playing a game or sport on the same side_

_5. Partner - Either member of a married couple or of an established unmarried couple_

_6. Partner - A person with whom one has sex; a lover_

_7. Partner - A friendly form of address by one man to another_

_8. Partner - A timber framework secured to and strengthening the deck of a wooden ship around a hole for a mast_

_9. Partnership - a contract between two or more persons who agree to pool talent and money and share profits or losses_

"So, what's your point Bones?" he asked.

"My point is, there are many ways to define a partnership or the term 'partners.' And many, if not most of the definitions on this piece of paper could be applied to our relationship. And these are just the first few of the definitions I came upon in a Google search. I know there are more."

"You mean, definitions for 'partner' like 'a timber framework secured to and strengthening the deck of a wooden ship around a hole for a mast'," he mocked.

"Well, in a metaphorical sense, I think it applies to us. A sailboat can't sail if the mast doesn't stay erect. And if not reinforced, the boat is very likely to tip over. Without a partner, the boat can't sail. And the captain of that ship would likely drown."

"That's very… poetic of you. I think," Booth said.

"My point is, there are many definitions of the terminology associated with 'partner.' Unlike the term girlfriend," she said, handing him the other piece of paper

He looked down and read the next sheet of paper.

_-girl·friend__ (noun)_

_1. A __regular __female __companion__ with__ whom __a__ person __has __a__ romantic __or __sexual __relationship._

_2. A woman's female friend_

"By society's own definitions, the term 'girlfriend' is limited to these two definitions. And, because you are not a woman, the second definition can't apply to you."

"Good to know you've realized I'm not a woman there, Bones."

"My body is fully aware of how male you are, Booth, given the breakfast I ate this morning and regurgitated 15 minutes later, thank you."

This time, he looked truly sympathetic. "Sorry…"

"My point is, the term 'girlfriend' is limited in its scope. It defines our relationship in this one sense but only in this one sense. And I feel that our relationship is bigger than that. There are many facets to our relationship, which include, but are not limited to the fact that we work together and have done so successfully for many years. Also we are going to be having and raising a child together. And despite the ways that this may upset Angela, when I am angry or upset, confused or happy, and just about anything else, I want to talk to my best friend. Angela is my best girlfriend… and the term is applicable to Angela, as defined by the second definition on this paper…" she said, indicating the paper with the definitions of 'girlfriend' on it, earning a small grin from Booth.

"…but you are my best friend. The person I wish to talk to first when anything, good or bad, happens. So, while we have obviously added romantic and sexual components to our existing relationship, I do not wish to define our relationship by those latest additions alone. However, the term 'partners' or 'partnership' have varied definitions, and the term is often defined solely by those entering into a partnership. I feel the term is more befitting our relationship. You are my partner. At work. At home. And in all the places in between. 'Partner' is a term that is pliant to our own definition. Also, while my experience with the ritual of dating was limited in my adolescence, the terms 'girlfriend' and 'boyfriend' sound like something grade school children say."

He pursed his lips together to try and refrain from kissing the daylights out of her or crying like a baby, so he cleared his throat and looked back at the papers on the table. "You're right," he conceded softly.

Brennan, on the other hand, had no problem grinning. "You agree?"

"Yeah. Yes, I do…" he started. "It's just… it's just that we've always defined our relationship as a partnership. And for years, we've had to define that when we say we are partners, we mean we are professional partners, co-workers who've teamed up to put the bad guys away, and that's been it. I like what you've said here, Bones. I love what you've said here, actually. And I agree. It's just…" his voice trailed off as he tried to find the right words.

"It's just!" she said, eyes widening to see if he understood.

"Yeah, it's just…" Booth said, repeating himself.

"No, Booth," she corrected. "Just. We've always said we're 'just partners,' allowing the 'just' to indicate that there have been imposed limitations on our partnership. And for years, there were such limitations. We're not "just partners" anymore. That's the distinction. Now, we're _partners_."

Booth leaned back in his seat and he smiled at her sheepishly. "Sorry I've been a little… cranky… since last night, _partner_."

Brennan raised her eyebrow at "cranky" as a description of his mood and he chuckled, sharing a look with her and she with him that let them both know all was forgiven on both fronts. But because now all apologies didn't have to be silent and include room for the holy spirits, he stood up from his chair and moved to her side of the table, sitting beside her and leaning in to kiss her briefly.

Their lunch… which they had never ordered but rarely needed to… arrived at the table and Booth scooped up the definitions, folding and placing the paper inside his jacket while putting his arm around her.

"You know, Bones. There will be one more title that will get tossed our way, whether we like the specific term or not."

"What term?"

"Parents," he said, shooting her a cheeky grin.

She grinned at the term, her hand falling unconsciously to her barely-there bump, before shrugging her shoulders in nonchalance. "I think the term 'partners' still works. In fact, parents, partners… if you rearrange the letters, they're practically the same word."

"Hmm…" he said, considering the similarity. "But isn't there an extra 'R'?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"That's for all of the extra 'R' rated activities we now engage in."

She smirked and started in on her salad with one hand while simultaneously patting his back in comfort with the other as he choked on his coffee. He seemed surprised at her joke, which made her smile a little more. He really should be more aware by now of just how amusing she can be.

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><p><em>If nothing else, I hope you smiled a bit. : ) Reviews are always loved. *hugs*<br>_


	8. No Shirt, No Bones

_**Some1tookmyname... y'all know she's awesome, right? Cause she is. And she gave me the thumbs up here (so totally blame her if it's awful and end your message with "Congrats Cardinals!") ;) *hugs*  
><strong>_

_**.  
><strong>_

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><p><em><strong>.<strong>  
><em>

_Damn him._

He walked past her yet again and she was ready to scream.

"_Work from home…" _And, "_Don't go to the lab… it's the weekend."_

There were rarely things this distracting happening at the lab.

And he was just so seemingly oblivious to what he was doing. Though she was absolutely sure he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. Torture. He was torturing her.

And damn him, she's a good person. She doesn't deserve to be tortured.

Then again, she was probably in a very small group of people who considered what he was doing "torture."

Because, well, if you're going to be tortured, it might as well be _this_ kind of torture.

_Damn him._

Things started out well. He went to church that morning and she went for a run. They had lunch together and after they finished, she grabbed her bag to head for the lab. After spending a plenty of good-potential-working-time cajoling her to stay at home… _at his home_… with him, assuring her that she could work without interruption as long as she stayed with him, she conceded. He had attempted to negotiate a 2 pm work-stop-time, which she scoffed at since it was nearly 1 pm. Then she countered with a 6 pm dinner-stop-time to which he countered with a 3 pm grocery store run, which she insisted he could make without her and he insisted if he went alone, he would come back with ingredients that would include saturated fat and high fructose corn syrup and lack vegetables unless she was willing to count popcorn and potato chips as such.

As the negotiations went on, they settled on a 4:30 pm shopping trip and a 7 pm dinner if he left her alone until 4:30 pm. So she sat down on his couch and pulled out her laptop as he finished the dishes. With a quick peck to the cheek and an 'enjoy', he left her to herself in the room. A few minutes later, she heard the shower turn on and smiled, satisfied that he was keeping to his word when it came to letting her work today. It was rare that 12-year-old that she believed was metaphorically tucked away inside her partner's head kept such a promise.

She was so focused on the article she was writing for an academic journal that she didn't notice when the water turned off. And she didn't notice when the door opened to the bathroom.

But damn him. She coughed on her sip of coffee when he came traipsing through the living room, his hair, shoulders and every other delicious part of him down to the towel at his waist covered in nothing but droplets of water from that shower.

He walked past her quietly without acknowledging her or the coughing fit and her eyes were helplessly glued to his form. She could see him at the refrigerator, bending down as he considered something to drink. She watched him head to the cupboard and reach for a glass on the tallest shelf, which flexed his back muscles superbly.

She watched as the towel loosened just enough around his waist that she suddenly heard herself chanting in her head "Fall! Fall! Fall! Fall!" And she was unable to suppress a squeak of disappointment when he noticed the loosen towel and tightened the knot to keep it in place.

He continued completing menial tasks in the kitchen as she tried desperately to refocus on whatever the hell thought she had before he had so rudely distracted her. She started typing again, but realized quickly that the effort was futile, as he moved from tasks in the kitchen to tasks in the living room.

Standing with his back to her, still towel clad with his hair dripping water down his back, he put away the DVDs he had out from their movie-watching the night before, organizing and tidying as he went. He picked up books lying in front of her on the coffee table, hesitating just long enough for her to get a good look and forcefully dart her eyes to the computer before he caught her, pounding away on the keyboard lines of alkjhsduiojqweklasfewjkfgnhe esfweuifuyowiefw dkfjierwlkfvisd jgwerw igu skduietwjehri8df efhewiohfwe just so he continued to believe he had not broken her concentration.

She noticed the smallest of smirks on his face as he walked away to place those books on his bookshelf and that smirk set her off.

She threw her computer down to the coffee table with enough force to startle him, but before he could complete the thought, "Bones, what the…?" she had marched into his bedroom.

He began to walk toward the door to follow her when she marched out of it and met him halfway, a t-shirt in her hands.

"Bones, what's wrong?" he said, gesturing with both hands as she advanced on him and began to wrestle the t-shirt over his form. "Bones?" he exclaimed, chuckling as she struggled to get his arms to cooperate.

"I need to concentrate," she gritted out through her teeth. "You… need… to wear this," she got out as he swatted her effort to try and dress him.

"Was I distracting you Bones?" he asked with a mega-watt 'I'm hot-stuff' grin.

"Just … keep this… shirt… on," she said, finally getting the hole of the shirt over his head and pulling it down him forcefully. "At least until 4:30."

"You're saying I can go to the supermarket without a shirt on," he shot back, earning a scowl from her before she turned toward the couch and picked up her computer."

"I'm saying that before 4:30 pm today, no shirt, no Bones, because I will go to the lab."

"What about shoes? Must I wear shoes, too, in my own home?" he asked cheekily, smiling wider when that earned another glare. He followed that up with a full body stretch which pulled his t-shirt higher along his abdomen, before settling. "Sorry Bones. I'll keep this shirt on, per your request, no matter what. I'd hate to break your concentration."

She grunted at him as he walked into the bedroom, smiling only once he was out of sight. He didn't need the ego-stroking. He was plenty cocky already.

But of course, Seeley Booth wasn't one who followed rules easily. Which is why she groaned and hid her head inside the crevice of her open laptop when a toweless Booth walked back into the room five minutes later.

"Booooooth…" she drawled out in a moan, as he stopped proudly in front of her.

"You said 'no shirt, no Bones'. You said nothing about having to wear anything else."

She sighed, standing as she put her computer back on the table and walked toward his room without saying anything.

"Aww, you're no fun, getting me pants now…" he whined.

"No," she said, taking off her own t-shirt then turning toward him. "You need a distraction so I can work. This will ensure that you'll sleep for at least an hour afterward. In a cost-benefit analysis, that's worth a 10-minute break from my work."

"Ten minutes. _Ten minutes!_" he exclaimed as she strolled behind the bedroom walls. "It'll be 10 minutes if I break your watch _in_ 10 minutes, woman," he muttered, following her into the bedroom.

"Booth! Your shirt stays on until 4:30…"

**.**

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><p><strong>.<strong>

_**And then there was sucking, panting, thrusting, screaming, jenapping etc. I don't do M. Sue me. :)**_

_**I do read reviews however. #JustSaying **_

_**As of posting time, there were 51.75 hours until #Bones airs on the East Coast. (And yes, I know I hashtagged a lot of stuff and this *isn't* twitter). *Squeee!***_


	9. The Tracy Hypothesis

**_Crack fic? Crack drabble?  
><em>**

**_I'd like to believe that even inside jokes would be something I could write about and post and the masses would understand without needing to know the joke. But unless your name is Tracy, Penelope Pajamas or you've been following these tweets on twitter, this won't make a ton of sense to you. Apologies. (But now I bet you're curious, aren't you? Gah! So sorry.)_**

**_For the curious, this is inspired by a tweet that said: "The hookers and crack whores are always named Tracy." And it was a Tracy who said it, so other Tracys not involved in that tweet are not allowed to be offended._**

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><p>Booth and Brennan sat silently in the diner after a day of working their latest case, both stirring their cups of coffee, but too lost in their own thoughts to drink them. After several minutes passed, Booth spoke first.<p>

"So… that name's off the list, right?"

"Very much so."

"I know you don't believe in this kind of thing, but… does naming your daughter 'Tracy' automatically increase the likelihood that she'll become a hooker?"

"The way a child is raised and nurtured in this world has more to do with their eventual career path and life decisions. Just because most of the prostitutes involved in this case were named Tracy, doesn't mean all children named Tracy will become prostitutes."

"Fifteen."

"I know."

"Fifteen prostitutes all named Tracy. And those two woman named 'Candi.' Candi with an 'I'…"

"And Candy with a 'Y,'" Brennan finished in recitation of the women's repetitively similar introductions of themselves. "Now Candy, with a Y or an I, as a name, is certainly not helping a child later in life."

"There were 18 women living in that brothel. Two were named Candy/i. Fifteen were named Tracy."

"Penelope was sort of the odd courtesan out, since her name was different. Nonetheless, Penelope is off the list too."

"Was Penelope ever on the list of names we were considering for her?" he asked, nodding toward his partner's abdomen.

"Not before and not now. And neither was Candy, in any form, in consideration for our daughter's name."

"How did Tracy get on the list?"

"I believe it was added by Angela. The name means 'brave.'"

"Huh…" Booth nodded, returning to stir his coffee.

"Did any of the women strike you as our murderer?" Brennan asked, breaking their latest period of thoughtful silence.

"It's gotta be one of the Tracys, right? The murder victim is a man named Tracy. Who had hired, at one point in time, all of the Tracys as his lady of the night."

"Sweets would probably have something to say about the narcissism in his choice of prostitutes."

"Psychology?"

"I didn't indicate his conclusions would be helpful to this case. Just that he would have things to say about the victim's behavior."

"Maybe the name does have something to do with it. I mean, if Tracy, the man, was sleeping with female Tracys because their names were Tracy, and not with others, maybe there was a jealousy factor there. Maybe one of the non-Tracys was jealous of Tracy sleeping with all of the Tracys and killed Tracy because she wanted Tracy for herself."

Brennan nodded thoughtfully as she considered his hypothesis. "So, if one of the non-Tracys committed the murder, which one is the most likely suspect?"

"Honestly… neither of the Candy/is seemed bright enough to be able to pronounce the names of the chemicals used to poison him, much less combine them into a poisonous cocktail."

"So... Penelope?"

"So… Penelope. But doesn't she seem a little too quiet and timid to fit the type?"

"Anthropologically speaking, people who stand out in tight-knit communities, who feel as if they don't fit into their environment are most likely to rebel in an effort to get attention.

"That felt a little more like psychology than anthropology. But I'll call Charlie and have him look into Penelope's background, see if we can't discover if she's got a past, or even if she's giving us her real name."

"Hmmm…"

"What?" Booth asked.

"If Penelope turns out to be the killer, and Penelope's not her real name, we'll need to take whatever her real name is off the list too. Just for good measure."

"Deal…"

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><p><em><strong>I left out the crackwhores named Tracy. Can you smell a sequel? (That was a joke.)<strong> _


	10. Boothylicious

_**Preachy Disclaimer: I don't own Bones (obviously, because I write here, not there). I don't think someone from the show is going to discover my fic and make me a show writer. I will not discuss this update 12,474 times on Twitter or tweet this story to the cast. This update is not the best thing since Brennan collected evidence off of Booth and I won't act as if it is. I will not beg for reviews and cry if you leave me nothing. I'm a big girl. I even dress myself… all by myself…almost every day!**_

_**(Some people around these parts are trying to take the fun out of fic reading and writing. Just say no to the drama, sane ones. And that ends today's after-school public service message. XoXo)**_

_**P.S. This is post-Hole in the Heart, before anyone but Angela knew there was a them. And thank you Tracy for the beta.  
><strong>_

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><p><strong>Boothylicious:<strong> A Booth that is highly pleasing to the senses, especially to taste or smell. (It's a mighty fine word.)

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><p>Booth stood off to the side of the platform holding two coffees, watching her work from the shadows for a few minutes, waiting to get a moment alone with her. He had dropped her off an hour earlier, after they had cracked the case and gotten their suspect to confess. It had only been an hour and suddenly he had found himself heading back to the Jeffersonian to see her again. The coffee was as an acceptable excuse as any.<p>

He watched Cam walk on and off the platform, giving instructions to various interns as her team was putting together the evidence to send to the FBI. Brennan was solely focused on logging each bone before placing them into the victim's casket with the utmost care.

He watched her make a few notes on her clipboard before transferring more bones into the casket, before she smirked a little bit. Without looking at him, she asked "Are you planning to stand there staring at me all day?"

"Maybe. It is a Saturday. I don't really have plans until later," he answered coyly, walking up the stairs to stand beside her.

Her smile grew, but she still didn't look at him. "Oh, you have plans for tonight? Anything interesting?"

"Hmm, well, there were a lot of options… the Phillies have a game tonight. I considered watching that. Maybe I could go to the rink… it's been awhile since I've knocked a puck around."

"No Parker this weekend?"

"Nope… just me. What about you, Bones? Any plans?"

"Actually, yes. I have, as Angela classified it, a 'hot date' tonight," Brennan said with a smirk.

"Oh, yeah. Anyone I know?"

"All I can really say is that Angela deemed the man to be 'bootylicious,'" she said, still focused on the bones in front of her, even as Booth now distractingly stood directly behind her.

He bent his head forward, and without touching her, whispered, "I'm pretty sure she said 'Boothylicious,' Bones."

"I'm quite certain that neither of those words could be found in any academically recognized dictionary," she replied with a snort.

"You never know… new words get added every year," he said, his breath ghosting over her neck, before he took a solid step backwards as he remembered where they were, setting her coffee down beside her.

"So… I'll pick you up at 7 tonight?" he asked quietly, making his way down his first step before turning around to look at her.

"Are you sure there isn't a baseball game on television you'd find more interesting to watch?" she said cockily.

"Guess you'll just have to make it worth my while, won't you?" he shot back, sounding equally confident.

She scoffed. "I believe you requested tonight's dinner. I think that makes you responsible for making it a worthwhile affair," she responded cheekily.

"I suppose it will have to live up to Boothylicious expectations."

"I'm not sure how such expectations are defined, but I'm sure Angela would offer tips if you feel like you need them," she said, barely containing a chuckle.

"I think I'll manage just fine, thank you," he shot back, grinning so much his cheeks actually hurt.

"If you say so. It's after two o'clock now. You might need to hurry if you intend to be primped and ready by seven."

"Primped," he scoffed. "I do not primp."

She removed her gloves before walking over to him. He was one step down on the platform's stairs, making her taller than him. She looked down at him, then ran one hand through his hair and another along his jawline slowly, causing him to close his eyes and cease oxygen intake. "I'd say your hair is only at half-gelled at best and you could definitely use a shave."

His jaw dropped as she laughed, and her playfulness compelled him to grab her knee as he drew her closer, rubbing his thumb over her knee cap slowly as he gazed seriously into her eyes.

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just below hers and whispered, "Seems like I'm not the only one who needs to shave."

She huffed in mocked outrage and pushed him away, laughing at his happy grin as he stumbled backwards. "I have work to do, Agent Booth," she said as she walked back to the examination table and searched for a new pair of latex gloves.

"Then I'll get out of your way so I can 'primp' in preparation for tonight, Doctor Brennan."

"Sounds like you'll have a very busy afternoon," she drawled out, laughing at his wounded expression.

"7 pm."

"I'll see you then."

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><p><em><strong>*giggle*<strong>_


	11. Seven Letters Across

_**This popped into my head at 5:25 in the morning. I was sleep-deprived. Fluff happens in my sleep-deprived states.**_

_**I can't kill Daisy Wick, even fictionally. But Happy Birthday to the wondrous Laffers. And America, too.**_

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><p>"Booth! I don't find this humorous."<p>

"I need another word for 'proportionately,'" he said, while straddling Brennan over the covers in bed, holding the newspaper in one hand and pen in the other.

"I'm trying to sleep…"

"It's seven letters."

"Is Christine awake yet?" she asked, trying to buck him off of her.

"I fed her already and she went right back to sleep," he responded, barely jolted by her attempts to move him.

"Sleep. That sounds lovely," she murmured, giving up moving him and curling back into her pillow.

"'A' is the fourth letter…"

"I'm too tired to think."

"Is something the great _Doctor Temperance Brennan _has never, ever said _and_ meant."

"I've had no coffee."

"It's on the nightstand, right next to you."

She remained silent and unmoving.

"Bones!" he said, while bouncing vigorously on the bed, jolting her.

"Equally," she shouted grumpily.

"What… oh!" he said, counting spaces. "Oh. I meant 'A' is the fifth letter," he responded apologetically, causing her to moan.

He waited a moment for her response, but she remained silent.

"Bones!" he yelled with a playful jab to her stomach.

"What?" she said, popping up on her elbows to glare at him.

"Hi," he said sweetly. "Another word for proportionately, seven letters."

She glared at him while he smiled at her, and finally caved. "Pro rata."

He looked at her skeptically. "That doesn't sound like a word."

"That's because it's two words," she grumbled, sitting up enough to grab the coffee from the nightstand and take a sip.

He scoffed, but counted it out. "Hey, it fits! Now… That means 32 across is a six-letter word, with an 'R' as the second letter, for a word that means 'esoteric.'"

"Like this game… 'arcane.'"

"Ah, it fits! See Bones, isn't this fun," he laughed, bouncing up and down on her a little.

"I've learned over time that you sometimes have odd definitions of fun."

"This is the life, Bones. A Sunday morning in bed, doing the Post's crossword puzzle."

"Wouldn't you find it more fulfilling if you were, say, in the living room, completing the crossword puzzle. Quietly."

"Noooo… Bones. This is the quintessential couple's activity. I can't do it without you," he said, matter-of-factually, abandoning his position of straddling her to curl up beside her.

"You can't do it without me because it's a couple's activity or because…" she paused as she looked at the paper in his hands. "…or because you don't know a four-letter word for Oaxaca water?"

"Four across, hip-hop mogul married to Beyonce?"

"Who's Beyonce?"

"Exactly. We need each other to complete this crossword puzzle. This is _why_ it's a 'couple's activity.'"

Brennan rolled her eyes but unsuccessfully hid her smirk as she adjusted and settled against Booth.

"It's 'agua' by the way."

"What is?"

"The four-letter word for Oaxaca water. Oaxaca is a southern federal republic of Mexico. I did some of my graduate work in the Capital City of Oaxaca de Juarez, and while we were there, we took a weekend trip to the Hierve el Agua, an area with 'petrified' waterfalls, where water with extremely high mineral content falls over the side of cliffs, forming stone waterfall-like structures. The name means 'boil the water' but the water is not hot; rather it pushes up from the ground in places which looks like water boiling."

Booth smirked while listening to her speak, even taking her cup of coffee from her and stealing a sip while she continued talking of boiling waterfalls.

He handed the cup back to her after she stopped speaking and moved on to the next clue silently.

"Do you still find this to be a good couple's activity, even if I bore you with facts?"

"Psht… you don't bore me, Bones. Not possible. It's early on a Sunday morning and I just learned about a boiling waterfall in Mexico. How many people can say that?"

She shook her head and smiled at his sweet response. "You're shameless."

"Which is also a series starring William H. Macy on Showtime! This is going so well," he said enthusiastically, filling in the word "Shamless" at 24 down.

They both filled in a couple of blank words before Brennan laughed.

"What?"

"It's… 44, seven letters across," she said, still chuckling.

"The Queen's Consort…" Booth said, rolling over the clue's words in thought.

Brennan leaned over and placed a quick kiss on his lips, before tapping the crossword puzzle with her finger.

"Partner."

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><p><em><strong>Collective AWWWWW. :)<strong>_

_**Seriously, ignore me now. I don't know what angst-less disease I got bit by.**_


	12. One Shot

**It's been awhile. *shrugs* But this happened today. No particular time frame, no drama... **

**Unless you hate needles. **

* * *

><p>"I don't wanna."<p>

"Sit still, please."

"It's gonna hurt."

"No, it's not."

"It's going to make me sick."

"No, it won't."

"I never get sick."

"Except last year, and the year before that..."

"But I heard that getting the shot will make you sick."

"Please finish your beverage."

"Why?"

"Because it's difficult for you to drink and speak at the same time."

"But…"

She cut the next complaint off. "If you will be quiet and behave, we'll go get pie after we're done."

The room was quiet in contemplation of whether pie was an equitable reward for this torture.

"Can I have ice cream too?"

She tapped her foot in annoyance, before rolling her eyes. "Yes, if you must."

The room grew quiet for as long as the silence was tolerable until the obstinate one spoke again.

"I still don't see why I have to…"

"Daddy! I have to get like a hundred shots just to go to school. If I can get hundreds of shots, you can get one little itty bitty one," a frustrated Christine exclaimed.

"Even your daughter finds your whining annoying, Booth," Brennan commented tritely.

"You two didn't have to come," Booth shot back.

"Yes, we did," and "Yuh-huh" were uttered at the same time by the women in the room.

"Otherwise, you could just say you did it, Daddy. This way, we know."

"My own family doesn't trust me," he exclaimed, trying to look outraged, while the women gave him near-identical pointed stares.

"But it's like they're putting the flu inside me. That can't be good," he protested, with a final slurp of his coffee and a basketball toss of his cup into a trash can.

"A flu vaccine will prevent the flu, not cause it. And what really won't be good is if I have to put up with you, sick with the flu, for a third year in a row. This marriage may not survive."

"I never used to get sick."

"Christine spends her days with dozens of children, many of whom will spread the virus, and ultimately, she will transport it home with her in some fashion that is sure to make you ill again. And yes, you did used to get sick. Usually about the same time Parker came home the flu."

"Yeah, and Mommy says it can make you really, really sick when you're young like me or really, really old like you Daddy. So we have to get shots!"

Brennan snorted, while Booth's mouth gaped open. Before he could respond, Christine looked down from her perch on the little sink in the exam room at her Mom, sitting next to her. "Since Daddy's so old, should he get two shots?"

Brennan merely smiled before saying, "One should be enough."

"Okay," their daughter chirped, kicking her legs back and forth.

Booth's glaring at his wife quickly turned to a look of despair as the door handle turned and his nurse entered the room. "Okay, one flu shot, ready to go," she said too cheerfully for Booth's liking. "Which arm, Mr. Booth?"

"His left," Brennan piped in for him. Booth, while taking off his jacket to reveal his arm, gave her a questioning look. "You're right handed. You shoot better with your right hand," she explained.

"I shoot great with either hand."

As the nurse swabbed the injection site, what Brennan said registered with him. "Wait. Why does it matter, which arm she uses?"

The nurse and Brennan exchanged a glance, while she took a sip of her own coffee to delay a response. By the time she had swallowed, Booth was pierced with a needle.

"There, all done!" the nurse said, her own smirk appearing at the grown man's whimper. "Just let me get a Band-Aid for your arm…"

"I brought one for Daddy!" Christine exclaimed, and pulled it out of her pocket. "It's pretty Daddy, so it'll help you feel better faster."

"Thanks, Princess," he responded sincerely.

As the nurse slapped on his new Queen Elsa bandage, his eyes returned to focus on his wife. "Why does the arm matter?"

"You may experience some soreness in your arm as a side effect."

"Enough soreness to affect my shooting?"

"Well, it's unlikely. But as Christine pointed out, you are very, very old, and that combined with… umph," she lightly groaned in surprise as his jacket collided with her head.

"I've earned pie AND ice cream," Booth stated sullenly, catching his jacket when she threw it back at him.

"And a nap," Christine chimed in. "When I'm this grumpy, Mommy makes me take a nap."

"You girls are awfully mean to me," he joked, poking his left arm repeatedly where the vaccine had been injected to see if it hurt yet. "Making me get a shot, calling me old and making fun of me..."

"It's over, Booth. Take a lesson from your Band-Aid and 'Let it go,'" she said sweetly, before patting the bandaged area extra hard.

* * *

><p><strong>Today's Public Health Message: Get your flu vaccine. If you are not allergic to the ingredients or suffering from another ailment which won't allow you to get a vaccine, get vaccinated. Vaccines don't make you sick and people who have chronic respiratory issues (raises hand) will appreciate you doing so. Nearly 20 percent of the US population gets influenza every year and it's estimated that 36,000 people die because of it. Don't get sick. Don't die. Please and thank you. :)<strong>


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